in the stars
by youre-a-lizard-harry
Summary: 'He doesn't entirely remember flying here, either; he can't recall the moment the aching desire to visit her grabbed his heart and conscience and made him flip the buttons to fulfil the yearning. But he is here now, and he is silent.' After losing Amy and Rory, the TARDIS takes the Doctor where he needs to be. He doesn't know, however, that she needs him too.


_After losing Amy and Rory, the TARDIS takes the Doctor to where he needs to be. _

* * *

The blue door is pushed open by a tweed jacketed arm, the lanky man who steps out of the time machine wary. He shouldn't be here, he knows so too well – in forcing his blue box to land in this crevice of the universe he's torn a scratch in the folds of one of an old planet's old moons. He doesn't entirely remember flying here, either; he can't recall the moment the aching desire to visit her grabbed his heart and conscience and made him flip the buttons to fulfil the yearning. But he is here now, and he is silent. The house lies still, moonlight pouring in through the windows and marking its beauty through shadows on the carpet and walls. He takes his time passing from the living room and through the hall, absorbing each minute detail his eyes can detect; soaking up the facets of her life like they are a flood of water to his desperate sponge. Photographs on the shelves tell their individual stories – holidays on islands in the sun, journeys to white sand beaches and rocky shores, dangling over Nordic chasms and caves, lying on a picnic blanket on the coastline of New York. One frame attracts his attention like a glinting diamond in the sea of other jewels and he steps closer to look: a blonde halo of hair crowning her smiling face, she lies in a hospital bed. He is in the plastic chair at her side, his hand reaching across and clasping hers. But it is another detail of the image which grips him. Between them is a screen, displayed on it the grainy black and white scan of an ultrasound. He steps back, slightly timid, and tears his eyes upwards. The date stamped on the photograph's corner is eighteen months prior to the one he stands in now, and a smile spreads across his features as he starts up the staircase. Reaching the landing his eyes fall upon two closed doors before they find the third, left slightly ajar, a violet dim inviting him inside.

Stepping into the room, he feels the corners of his eyes begin to prickle and sting. The nursery walls are decorated with stick-on plastic stars which glow a pale green in the dark, but the main light source is the delicate mobile hanging above the crib, emitting the soft light which illuminates the purple of the walls. The Doctor can't quite see into the crib, and for a moment he wonders if he should turn his back and walk away now, head back downstairs and leave. He is an intruder here; Rose and her own Doctor are happy enough without him. But his burning curiosity usurps his fear, and he takes a tentative step closer. There, lying in the crib, is a beautiful baby boy, bundled in blankets and looking up at the Doctor with exactly her eyes. He's sure that both of his hearts break right in that moment. Leaning in cautiously, he slides his hands beneath the baby and lifts him up like the most precious thing in the universe; he is gazing at the tiny child with watery, wide eyes. Holding out a finger, he feels the baby wrap his own small, warm hand around it, and the overwhelming surge of memories and emotion threatens to knock him right over. The Doctor begins to rock steadily, and presses his lips to the baby's forehead.  
"A tiny Tyler," he murmurs, smiling. "So lucky." His grin cracks, flickering with pain. "Your mother has the fiercest love, the biggest of hearts. Your father… he tries his best to compare, and she's mending him. She stays with him no matter where she is. Where he is, either." Turning slowly on the spot, the Doctor takes in the other photos on the walls; they are all of the baby and her, but her husband is absent from them all. "_Where_ is he?" he whispers, a dreadful thought gnawing at the back of his mind. His eyes move to the final photograph, positioned in the centre of the wooden cabinet against the opposite wall, and his heart almost gives out completely. Rose kneeling at a graveside with the baby so small in her arms; the child is holding a fistful of soft blue flowers out to the earth. The Doctor doesn't have to read the name gilded upon the headstone to know whose it is. The first tear sliding along his cheek, he holds the baby tighter as though his protective embrace could eradicate all of the child's loss. Kissing the baby's head again, the Doctor frees one arm and holds the sonic screwdriver to the ceiling of the room. One long depress of its button and the ceiling paint melts away, uncovering the furthest reaches of space: the stars on the walls are replaced by real ones, winking brightly above their heads; plumes of fuchsia, emerald, sapphire gas veiling the nebulae; an endless multitude of beauty, carrying on further than any eye could see, unfolded there especially for them to see. "He's in the stars," he murmurs, watching the baby gaze around in awe. "He'll always be with you, if you just look up."

The creak of a door from behind alerts his attention, and the Doctor turns around. Light spilling in around her as though she's the most magnificent celestial vision she stands in the doorway, her cheeks streaked with tears, smiling.  
"Rose," he breathes.


End file.
